


"'cause darling, to me that's what you're worth"

by talkwordytome



Series: Spellman Sisters' Mortuary [4]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Caretaker Hilda Spellman, Caretaking, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hilda loves her big sister, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Sick Character, Sick Zelda Spellman, Sickfic, Sister-Sister Relationship, Zelda Spellman Needs A Hug, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkwordytome/pseuds/talkwordytome
Summary: In which I am so enraged about that deleted scene from s3e3 (YOU KNOW THE ONE) that I decided to write it myself.
Relationships: Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: Spellman Sisters' Mortuary [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744618
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	"'cause darling, to me that's what you're worth"

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists because of how MAD I AM THAT THEY DELETED THIS FUCKENIN SCENE https://anneofgreengaybles.tumblr.com/post/615528108537331712
> 
> Also hi this isn't beta'd and 95% of it was written while I was v tipsy so any mistakes are mine and mine alone and also I'm sorry
> 
> The title comes from "Where You Lead" by Carole King which I cannot listen to without crying

They hadn’t spoken since Zelda had erased the words from Hilda’s book, and Hilda was beginning to worry.

She’d spent a nice hour or so nursing her grudge, which was not a past-time she indulged often, but she’d moved past annoyance ages ago; that wasn’t the only copy she’d had made of the book. Hilda Spellman was many things, but stupid? That was decidedly not one of them. It had really only been a matter of time before Zelda found out about her little side hobby, anyway. And, she mused, perhaps her depiction of Zelda had been a _bit_ on the harsh side. It wasn’t her intention to _hurt_ Zelda, exactly, but Zelda got to take out all her frustrations on Hilda with the Cain pit and what did Hilda get to do? Not bloody much. She needed those little moments of release when she could get them. Fair, after all, was fair.

It certainly didn’t help that she knew full well that Zelda was ill. She could pretend she wasn’t all she wanted but Hilda knew Zelda just as well as she did her own limbs. If Zelda was hurting, then Hilda was too; it had always been that way, ever since they were little girls. Hilda was an empath, certainly, but with Zelda it had always been an especially strong connection. Once, when Sabrina was younger, they’d read _A Wrinkle in Time_ together and she still thought about one moment in particular: _How did Charles Wallace always know about her? How could he always tell?_

Hilda checked the clock. She had an hour, maybe two, to spare before Dr. Cee picked her up for the carnival. That was more than enough time for a trip to the Academy and back, though whether she’d be able to convince Zelda to rest within that time frame very much remained to be seen.

* * *

Zelda never locked the door to her office but Hilda knocked cautiously all the same; it felt unfair to burst in on her when she was under the weather. “Zelds?” she said softly. “It’s just me. Can I come in?” But Zelda didn’t answer.

Hilda pushed the door open a touch, and then wider when she realized Zelda didn’t answer because she was asleep. Her head was propped languidly against her arm and her chin was drooping towards her chest. Her hair was a reddish gold curtain spilling across her face. Hilda could hear the faint wheezing sounds that came from breathing through a stuffy nose. It was, quite frankly, precious, though if she valued her survival at all she could never pass on those sentiments to Zelda. 

Hilda walked up to the desk and gently shook Zelda’s shoulder. “Zelda?” she whispered. “Love, I think you’ve fallen asleep.”

Zelda’s eyes fluttered open; her drowsy, confused gaze swept around the room until it finally landed on Hilda. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What,” she asked, “are you doing here?”

“I was worried about you,” Hilda said, bypassing completely the dance where they pretended Zelda was fine. It seemed a bit silly to stand on ceremony with a person she’d known for nearly three centuries.

“You have a funny way of showing it,” Zelda sniffed, as much from irritation as her cold. “Sharing that story with my students and humiliating me.”

There was genuine hurt in Zelda’s eyes as she spoke, and Hilda felt a short, sharp stab of guilt somewhere in the middle of her abdomen. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry I did that, Zelda; you’re right, it was mean of me.”

Zelda hummed her agreement as she tidied her already immaculate desk. “Your apology is noted, as is your worry,” she said. “The latter, however, is unnecessary, given that I am fine.”

Hilda carefully set her handkerchief on top of Zelda’s desk. “You’re a bit, ah,” Hilda gestured vaguely at her nose, “drippy, Zelds.”

Zelda huffed in annoyance and snatched the handkerchief offered to her. “All I need is a stiff whisky and a bath,” she said after she finished blowing her nose. 

“What you _need_ ,” Hilda corrected in her most reasonable voice, “is tea, a cold draught, a bit of foxglove, and sleep.”

“I have _work_ ,” Zelda said in a tone most often used by cranky toddlers in need of their afternoon nap, and Hilda knew she was just about ready to give in.

“It can _wait_ ,” Hilda said, imitating her cadence.

Zelda coughed, sniffled, and sneezed in quick succession, then placed her face in her hands and sighed. She peeked out at Hilda from behind her fingers. “This is hitting me all at once,” she whispered, the closest she would ever get to saying the words _I’m sick_.

“You’re not a bit well,” Hilda said firmly, helping Zelda stand and walking her to the door. “You and that cold are going _straight_ to bed where you belong. No arguments.”

A ghost of her characteristic smirk flitted across Zelda’s face. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Hildy,” she said.

* * *

“Here you are,” Hilda said, bustling over to Zelda’s side and handing her a steaming mug, “extra honey, just like you like it.”

“Oh, thank you, Hildy,” Zelda said, cradling the mug in both hands from where she lay curled on her bed.

“How are you feeling, love?” Hilda asked, sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

Zelda managed to shove the mug back into Hilda's hands just before she caught two heavy sneezes in her handkerchief. She groaned. 

“That bad, hm?” Hilda said sympathetically. 

Zelda nodded reluctantly as she took a long sip of tea. “My head is very,” she waved a vague hand, “swimmy.” She blew her nose unproductively. “I don’t know how much longer I can abide such misery.”

Hilda pressed the backs of her hands to Zelda’s cheeks. “You’re running a fever, poor thing,” she said.

“Am I?” Zelda breathed. “How odd.” She closed her eyes. “Do you remember how Mother used to check for fever when we were girls?”

“I do,” Hilda said, leaning in and pressing a gentle kiss to Zelda’s hot forehead. 

“What’s the verdict, Dr. Spellman?” Zelda croaked. 

Hilda thought for a moment. “I’d say about 100.8, maybe 100.9,” she said. Zelda shivered her agreement.

Hilda took a blanket from the foot of the bed and tucked it around Zelda. “You, my dear,” she said, “are not to leave this bed for at least the next twelve hours. That’s an order.”  


“From who?” Zelda asked, the corners of her mouth threatening to turn up into a smile.

“Me,” Hilda said decisively. “Unless of course you want to end up with pneumonia. You know how you get with colds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Zelda said without any real conviction. “I’ve never caught cold in my life.”

“I must be thinking of some other Zelda Spellman, then,” Hilda said, eyes twinkling merrily. “Do you need anything else before I go?”

Thin, ever so slightly clammy fingers wrapped around Hilda’s wrist. “I was wondering, perhaps,” she said, refusing to meet Hilda’s eyes, “if you might read to me. From one of those...one of those books you enjoy so much.”

An irrepressible, beaming grin spread across Hilda’s face like a sunrise after a night of storms. “I know just the thing,” she said. “I just bought it yesterday and haven’t started it yet, but it looks like it’ll have oodles of saucy, minxish behavior and plenty of tragic love confessions on the moors, which are the best sort of tragic love confessions.”

Hilda got her book out of her bag and pulled up a chair, but Zelda’s hand on her wrist again stopped her. “Up here?” she asked, pouting. “With me? Like when we were little?”

Hilda rolled her eyes but acquiesced with a smile. “Remember when we used to sleep top to toe?” she asked as she settled in. 

“Of course I do,” Zelda said, leaning her heavy head onto Hilda’s shoulder. “Go on, start reading. And you're not allowed to skip over things because it looks like I’m sleeping.”

“Zelds,” Hilda said, opening her book, “I’d never even try it.”


End file.
